


How'd I end up here...

by Justdaydreaming



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drinking, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justdaydreaming/pseuds/Justdaydreaming
Summary: Hey! I've been here as a reader for a while, but this is my first fic. It starts off around 11:04 (Baby) but will differ in places from the canon of the show. I'm a huge Supernatural fan so I'm also a bit nervous posting this!2020 was a pretty shit year, but it also inspired me to write so I hope that this can bring you a bit of cheer while we all try to ride the pandemic out.This will be updated regularly :)Peace out!
Relationships: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Introduction

Sitting in the dark, on the hard, cold ceramic of her own bath tub, all she can do is panic. The rope digging into her wrists and ankles seems to tighten with every attempt to move. She doesn't dare to make a sound and even if she wanted to scream, there is duct tape over her mouth. Silent tears are blinding her and she knows she needs to do something, anything to try and get out of this. She can't even remember getting home, but she knows thats where she is because she can see her toiletries tucked neatly in one corner of the bath. Her colourful towels are folded on the second hand shelves she'd reclaimed at the end of the tub but in the dark they are just shades of black. 

She definitely didn't think that this kind of thing happens to real people, people like her. She wriggles carefully and tries to prop herself up onto the side of the tub before sliding back down, defeated, like an insect trying to crawl up the side of a drink, only to scoot back down and flutter around helplessly as it drowns. She has been trying not to think about how she got here, the last thing she clearly remembers is being on the train on her way home from work, she doesn't want to feel any worse. There isn't a window in the room so she can't tell what the time is, could have been here for minutes before she came to but it could just as easily have been hours. 

She remembers leaving work with her friends and heading to a bar, having a couple of glasses of wine. It's Friday and they usually have a drink or two after an early finish before they head home for the weekend. The shower head drips cold water onto her scalp, each droplet of water making her shudder as it runs down her neck. She is sore all over in ways that she never has been before and she is sure there are bruises to show for it. She closes her eyes and focuses again. She had left the bar at around 8 and walked back to the train station with her headphones in, it had been fairly quiet for a Friday but that could be accounted for by the way the world has been recently. 

She had leapt through the barriers at the station just in time to run aboard a train going past her stop. Feeling pleased with herself, she had taken a seat and read a little on her phone but her eyes had been heavy. It had been a long week and she hadn't been sleeping well, waking in the middle of the night after the most vivid nightmares she had ever experienced. Then there were the headaches, like migraines but worse. But then, everybody has been a bit unsettled lately. Getting 20 minutes of rest on the way home hadn't felt like a dangerous or reckless thing to do but now here she is, bound and gagged, bruised and trapped in her own bathroom.

Before she can start sobbing again, she hears a heavy thud, followed by loud, steady footsteps. Her heart is thudding more urgently, sending blood rushing around her skull, deafening her. She panics as she spots the outline of two feet under the door, standing on the other side. She is torn between trying to move and staying silent but it doesn't matter, because before she can decide the door handle starts to twist. Sure this is it, she wants to close her eyes because she is not ready to die but she is completely frozen as the door swings open to reveal the silhouette of a person standing in the dimly lit hallway. 

The figure starts to move towards her, once again she tries desperately to move or scream but it's futile. In seconds he is towering over her, reaching out and grabbing a fistful of her hair. He drags her over the lip of the tub and tears sting her eyes as her body thumps the cold hard tiles. The next things she sees are his eyes, glowing, a sickening grin spreading across his face. Her head is pounding and she can feel the pressure in her skull building now, breathing shallow and sporadic, crippled with fear. 

"Hey." he hisses at her, still beaming, clutching her shoulder. "We've been looking for you for a while. You can't hide from me, you know that." he almost chuckles as the last bit comes out. 

He reaches his free hand into his jacket and pulls out a long silver blade, his eyes never breaking contact. She knows she is going to die and still her head is boiling, it feels like her brain is swimming in her skull. She starts to shake and he stares at her, the smirk on his face disappearing rapidly. 

"What do you think you're doing?" he snarls at her. The look on his face now is anger personified and he raises his hand, stretching it out towards her. She flinches but he never brings his hand down, just holds it there, his brow furrowing further with each passing second. Her head hurts so much now that she lets out a whimper as her whole body starts to tremble. There is a deafening ringing in her ears, getting louder and louder, more intense than she can tolerate. She screams, squeezing her eyelids closed as a light brighter than any she has ever seen before engulfs the room. Then there is silence, darkness.


	2. 2

The dew on the grass underneath me, cold and damp, is almost soothing. "Fuck." I groan out loud as my eyes open, gazing up at the overcast sky, lungs sucking in fresh air, my head is sore, really sore. I sit up and take in my surroundings, my bruised body betraying me as I do. I'm in a field, still wearing my work clothes and shoes. A large circle of grass around me is flattened outwards, like it was blown away from my body. Reaching a hand up to touch my the back of my head, it feels damp and sticky, when I pull my fingers away they are covered in blood. I wipe them absent mindedly on my leg, blood smearing over my black office trousers, then I haul myself to my feet. 

On one edge of the field, there is a sparse treeline with what looks like a road beyond it. Standing hurts even more than sitting, visions a little blurry and I can hardly manage stumbling at a third of my normal pace, diagonally across the field, towards the road. Although it hurts, my brain is working over time, questions flooding it as I put one foot in front of the other on autopilot. Where am I? How did I get here? What is going on? I have nothing on me apart from the clothes I'm wearing, no phone, no wallet. I know who I am I guess. At least, I thought I did. Right now, I'm not even sure that this is real. 

About a month ago I started to have these weird dreams. Nightmares, actually. But then it hasn't just been me, every friend I have confided in has also been having strange dreams. So to be honest, it was easy to write it off as an effect of stress caused by the pandemic. However, in the last week or so they've been followed by thumping headaches, building up in intensity until that guy showed up, presumably having followed me home from the bar. What bothers me the most is that I still don't know what happened, how it happened. It's like I blacked out drunk but there is no way that would happen after a couple of glasses of wine. 

It takes a painfully long time but finally I reach the side of the road, just as the clouds above me break and rain starts to fall. This looks like the middle of the countryside so the only viable option is to walk until I find a petrol station or a phonebox. Cold droplets hammer down and water soaks my already damp clothes, through to the skin underneath within minutes. It's cold and I'm hurt, tired and hungry. The empty feeling in the pit of my stomach turns into a sour kind of knot, my chest flutters slightly as my lip begins to tremble. Looking down at my blouse , I realise that the blood from my head has mixed with the rain, it's a mess of pink streaks. Tears start to form in my eyes and I drop to my knees on the side of this fucking road in the middle of nowhere. 

The storm is so loud and my sobbing so heavy, that I almost miss the low rumble of an engine approaching. It isn't until the car has slowed down, it's tyres crawling along the gravel at the side of the road, that my heart lurches up into my throat again, thudding away as the engine clicks off. I hear two car doors open and two pairs of boots hit the gravel. I don't want to turn and face this, my heart is beating so quickly I feel like it might just stop at any moment. I stand and straighten my back, trying to muster some confidence and not look so pathetic before spinning to look at them. It doesn't matter anyway, because as my body turns to face them, my legs give way from under me and everything is black again. 

***

Dean is driving fast through the storm, thankful that he'd managed to get the rear window fixed on the way home. The rain is deafening, even with Bob Seger blasting out of the speakers. Sam is sitting in the passenger seat, leaning against the window, pensively flipping through the latest book he's picked up trying to research the Darkness. Dean shrugs to himself, he isn't holding out much hope on that front. But at least they're nearly home. Home sweet home. 

As he looks back up, he sees a woman crouching at the side of the road. He reaches out towards the stereo and turns the volume down a bit. Sam looks over to him, expecting him to say something but he quickly follows his brother's line of sight and spots her. She looks as though she is injured. The brothers glance at each other and without discussion, Dean slows down, pulling over onto the gravel. The rain is still falling heavily and the scent of the trees is heightened, they get out of the car, shut the doors gently and start to make their way across the road. 

Before they can reach her, the woman who had just tried to stand collapses. Sam runs over to her and picks her up, out of the mud. He runs his hand gently through her hair which is stained red from a cut on her scalp, she looks generally bruised and battered, ligature marks around her wrists and ankles. No ID, no phone and no wallet - no clue who she is - but she clearly needs help. He looks up at Dean "I think we should take her back. She's hurt and she has nothing on her." 

Sam walks back to the car with her resting in his arms. He can't help staring at her, she looks very lost and he wonders how she even ended up here. After some careful manouvering between them both, he and Dean manage to prop her up across the back seat. When they are satisfied that she won't fall into the footwell, they both take their places in the front seat and Dean puts his foot down. Even though there had been some fun on the hunt, it had been a long few days. They both need a shower, a meal and some rest. But thats on the back burner for now.

***

This time, when I wake up, I am greeted immediately by two faces, staring down at me. They back off and I sit up slowly, dizzy and dazed. The taller one hands me a glass of water, a half smile on his chiseled face, hazel eyes filled with concern. It feels sincere but I know I need to be guarded. I still drink the water quickly, thirst winning over my own concern. The other man has repositioned himself, he is standing, arms crossed, at the end of the bed, brow furrowed. 

"Thanks." I rasp, handing the now empty glass back to the closest one. "What happened, how long was I out?" I add quickly. 

"We found you on the side of the road about 30 minutes from here, got back here a couple of hours ago, what do you remember?" 

I think hard, trying to piece together everything but the more I think, the more frustrated I get. The older looking one, at the foot of the bed, unfolds his arms and shoots me a knowing look, his piercing green eyes pulling me in like magnets. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. 

"I was on my way home from work and I must've passed out on the train. I woke up in my bathroom at home, beaten up, tied up. Then there was this man, felt like he wanted to hurt me but whatever he was trying to do... it uh, didn't work." I pinch the bridge of my nose because the next bit sounds crazy and I know it. "For a second, I could have sworn his eyes were glowing. There was a bright light, horrible ringing in my ears. My head felt like it was on fire. Then I woke up in that field. When I got up, it looked as though I'd fallen from the sky, the ground around me was flattened." I open my eyes when I finish relaying it all, my hands curled into tight fists, nails digging into my palms. There are so many questions I don't know where to start, I'm not even sure they'll be able to answer them. The feeling in my gut tells me I am very far from home and the look on their faces confirms it.

"Okay well we need to sort that head wound out. Then we'll try and figure this out. I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean." he gestures to the other guy, still holding the empty glass. 

"Thank you Sam, Dean. I'm Emily." I nod at each of them and try my best to smile back but I'm shakey, anxious, it's probably more of a grimace. 

Getting up from the matress hurts, more than I had expected it to. I hold in the wince as much as I can and stand, trying to stay at least a bit composed. The brothers lead me out of the room, down a long corridor with lots of doors off it, into a huge kitchen. It looks retro, 50's - 60's, maybe older, a large table and chairs to one side. Sam makes a pot of coffee as Dean leans against the side board and I stand awkwardly, not knowing quite what to do with myself. I take a mug of steamy black coffee from Sam and cradle it, savouring the comfort. We each take a seat, them on one side of the table and me on the other. 

They're looking at me expectantly and I have no idea what to tell them, this is all so intense. Judging by this place, their accents - I'd hazard a guess that I'm not even on the same continent anymore. The thought makes my stomach drop, like being at the top of a steep rollercoaster, teetering over the edge, about to plunge downwards. I hastily gulp down a mouthful of hot coffee, burning my tongue in the process. Pushing down the urge to screw my eyes shut and attempt to wish myself home, I sigh, putting the mug down gently on the table. 

Sam puts me out of my misery and starts by asking me what day it is. 

"It must be Saturday by now. At least."

"He meant what date is it?" Dean jumps in. 

"Uh, 8th August 2020. Why?" Staring down at my lap, I figure that they're trying to see how hard my head was hit. When I go to make eye contact, I see them glance at each other and then back at me, their faces giving away nothing. 

"Emily, where do you live?" Sam says, trying his best to sound reassuring. 

"Small town on the coast." I mumble, dissociating. "In England." I add, though I'm pretty sure my accent has probably given that away. My thoughts start to spiral as I struggle to rationalise all of this crap. I'm pulled back to the room when Dean gets up and walks away from the table, beckoning Sam to come with him. 

"Uh, be right back." Sam says, an uncertain look on his face as he follows his brother out of the kitchen. 

When they're both gone, I get up as well, start pacing back and forth across the room. I need to own this situation, I know that. If it wasn't for the pain, the pounding in my head, my burnt tongue, the sheer lucidity, I would think this was another nightmare. Bit more elaborate than the others - but the human brain is an incredible thing. I'm not sure how the hell I got here but I'm sure I can get home. Home. The thought hits me like a truck. I wonder what sort of state it's in, that light had been so bright I couldn't open my eyes. My home had been my sanctuary, I'm not sure I'd feel safe in it now. 

Sam walks back into the kitchen, Dean behind him. I stop pacing and sit back down, waiting for their judgement. 

"Emily, I'm not sure how you got here but you're not in England anymore, you're in Kansas." Sam says softly. 

I hear him but it takes me a few seconds to proces it. "Ha! The irony." I mutter under my breathe, thinking of that infamous line in The Wizard of Oz. "How? I have nothing on me, I'm not even sure we can fly right now!" my tone is erratic as I try to hold my emotions back. "Look at me!" I gesture to my face, my blood stained shirt. 

"Yeah that's not all, it's 2015." Dean adds, a little bluntly, though his expression tells me he didn't mean it to be. Sam glares at him, his lips pursed into a tight line. Either way, internally I'm in turmoil. I want to explode but it's pointless - exploding at them isn't gonna get me out of this mess. Being halfway across the world inexplicably is one thing, but time travel - really?! Maybe I should go to a hospital. But then, I don't want them to think I'm crazy and lock me up. The whole situation is utterly impossible and it's making my brain hurt, different thoughts jostling for my full attention and none of them succeeding. 

"Do you think I'm crazy?" I blurt out, mind racing, tears threatening to spill from my already puffy eyes. 

"No, we don't think you're crazy." Sam says, reaching out an placing a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. 

"You might think we are though." Dean chuckles. 

"What do you mean?" I ask, looking him straight in the eye.


	3. 3

"Small town on the coast." she mumbles quietly. "In England." that part is near enough a whisper. Her face crumples slightly but she doesn't cry, just looks deep in thought. Dean shoots Sam a look and without waiting for a response, gets up from his seat and walks into the hall. 

  
"Okay, what do we do." Sams voice comes from behind him a few seconds later. "We know she's not a demon or a shifter." They'd 'tested' her while she was out cold.

  
"Come on man, abducted and beaten by some guy with glowing eyes, definitely sounds like our kinda thing. And what about the whole appearing here... how?!" He shrugs. "We can't lie to her. We gotta tell her straight where and when she is and then we gotta help her get home." Dean says, looking for agreement. 

  
Sam nods "She seems pretty fragile. If we do tell her, we're going to do it nicely." he asserts, warning his brother. 

  
When they walk back in, Sam takes the lead and Dean watches her face carefully. She looks shocked but she takes it all pretty well, even when he fucks up and blurts out the year. To his surprise, she continues to soak up everything they tell her without seeming too overwhelmed and whilst she may be skeptical, she doesn't seem to think they're lying either. Dean finishes up the whole _saving people, hunting things_ explanation and she just looks at up at him with wide eyes. 

  
"It's all real?" Emily winces through gritted teeth as Sam stitches up the cut on her scalp. 

  
"Yup." Dean grunts, passing her a hip flask from his pocket. He watches her take a large gulp before handing it back to him. "It is here anyway." he adds.

  
"Here?"

  
"I mean in this reality, this version of stuff." he tries to explain.

  
"There are different worlds?" her eyes light up at the thought. 

  
"Kind of, yeah." 

  
"Have you been to any? Can you get me home?" for the first time since they picked her up, she really smiles. Dean looks at her, even in the state she is in, she is pretty. He feels guilty for thinking it and gulps, his eyes darting away from hers. He clears his throat.

  
"I don't know. I mean - we've been to a different world. And we've been to different times. But not both at the same time." 

  
"Yeah but it doesn't mean it's impossible." Sam adds as he finishes the stitches.

  
"How was it different?" she questions them. 

  
"Uh, we were actors on a show about our lives." Dean answers her. She giggles a little but his face is completely straight. "Yeah, it wasn't funny, trust me." 

  
***

  
The stitches hurt like a bitch, the whisky helped though. After a conversation that lasted for what felt like hours, Dean had shown me to a bathroom, giving me fresh towels and some clean clothes to change into. Like the kitchen, the bathroom is massive. Several shower cubicles line one side of it, toilet cubicles at the far end, sinks opposite and then a bench adjacent to the showers. 

  
"There's shower gel on the shelf. Sams probably got some hair stuff somewhere, help yourself. The water gets really hot so watch out." he says as I put the towels and clothes down on the bench. 

  
"Thank you." I look up at him. "I mean, thanks for not leaving me on the side of the road and everything." I blurt out quickly, holding back fresh tears. I feel safe here and if they hadn't picked me up I have no idea where I would be right now. The thought makes me shudder. 

  
"Hey, you're okay, it's what we do." he says, smiling at me. "I'm gonna leave you to just chill out for a bit, process. Shout us if you need anything okay?" 

  
"Okay." I sniffle quietly.

  
Once he leaves, I lock the door and undress, folding my dirty clothes and placing them beside the clean ones. I walk over to the mirror to look at myself, assess the damage. My ribs are purple down one side, angry darker blotches concentrated towards my waist. There are bruises in various shades on my arms and legs and my hair is matted with dried mud and blood. I don't think I've ever been this physically hurt before and it terrifies me. I look at myself until I can't anymore. 

  
I start running the shower, stepping under the stream cautiously. As the hot water pulses down on me, I let myself cry properly. The release is cathartic and once it's over I'm able to think straight again. I stay in the shower for a while, washing my body and my hair carefully to avoid poking a bruise or busting a stitch open. After a long soak, I step out of the cubicle, dry myself with one towel and wrap my hair up in the other. Dean left me with some sweat pants and a Led Zeppelin t shirt. I smile to myself as I pull it on, it's not dissimilar to the one in my drawer back home. 

  
Dressed in clean, albeit ill fitting clothes, with tousled damp hair and bare feet, I leave the bathroom with my dirty clothes under one arm. Out in the hall, I realise I have no idea where I am so I shout for one of them. I don't fancy getting lost in this place. They'd told me how they'd come across the bunker, inherited it - sort of, from some secret monster hunting society. It all sounds pretty ridiculous, but no more so than the last 24 hours of my life. Just as I'm about to start panicking, Sam shows up.

  
"Hey, sorry I was in the library, got here as quick as I could." he huffs slightly and it's clear he jogged to get here. This place really is massive. "I've made up a room for you, just down the hall."

  
"Thanks." I say appreciatively.

  
"Follow me, then we'll head back to the kitchen, eat something and try talk to Cas." Sam says as he leads me down the hall and through a door numbered "15". Inside, there is a dark wood wardrobe, matching chest of draws, bed and bedside table. The bed is made up with fresh linen and next to the wardrobe is a pair of boots. "They're probably way too big for you but your shoes are ruined. I tried fixing them but the soles have come off." He says apologetically. 

  
"It's okay, they were pretty screwed anyway." I say, pulling on the boots which sure enough, are at least 2 sizes too big. I get up and follow Sam back out of the room, towards the kitchen, wondering who Cas is. As I shuffle into the kitchen behind Sam, my question is answered. Sat opposite Dean at the table is a man around the same age as him. He has bright blue eyes, dark hair and he's wearing a slightly battered beige trench coat over a suit. 

  
"Hello Emily. I'm Castiel." He says with a brief smile. 

  
"Hi." I say quietly as I take a seat. Kindness radiates from him and it puts me at ease, so I tell Cas the same story I'd told Sam and Dean earlier and he nods his understanding. He looks at Dean who nods at him, then he looks back at me. "There is something I'd like to try but I need your permission first."

  
"What is it?" I ask, cautiously. 

  
"He wants to read your mind, look through your memories. It might help us figure out how you got here." Sam explains. 

  
"He's an angel." Dean adds. "They're real too." 

  
"Uh, okay I guess." the words come out before my thoughts can spiral. I have so many questions- angels, seriously - but mainly, I really want to get home and that is enough for me to agree. Cas reaches out and touches my temple. A warmth spreads from his fingers, to my skin, then it feels like it is coursing through me. After a few seconds, he retracts his hand. 

  
"Your rib was broken but I've fixed it." He says, matter of factly, giving nothing else away. 

  
Too amazed to even question it, I reach down instinctively and slip my hand under the t shirt, my side isn't sore any more. When I lift the fabric, the bruising has completely disappeared from my side. I take a deep breath and there is no pain. 

  
"Thats impossible." I breathe out. "Thank you." I look over at him, hoping he can sense how grateful I am. 

  
***

  
Dean watches her shift around in his clothes. Despite her height, they still seem to dwarf her. He watches her eyes light up with hope after Castiel heals her broken rib, only for that hope to melt away when he tells her that he doesn't know how she got here, or how they're getting her back. Then he watches her go back to shifting around in her chair, nibbling on a piece of toast halfheartedly, answering questions with a mumbled 'yes' or 'no'. He checks his watch, early afternoon, plenty of time for what he has in mind.

  
"Hey, Emily. Look this all sucks, I get that. And there isn't a lot we can do right now to fix that. But if you're gonna be here for a bit, you're gonna need some clothes and stuff - right? We can't get deliveries here but I can drive you to the mall?" he offers casually, trying to give her a way to get out for a bit, find some things to help her feel a bit more... well her. He catches her eyes and holds her gaze. 

  
"Uh, yeah that would be great. Thanks. Honestly, my world sucks right now too so hey - it could be worse." She says with a shrug. 

  
"Okay perfect, Cas and I will put the feelers out, see if we can find any similar cases." Sam says as the four of them stand. 

  
"It was nice to meet you, Emily." Cas says as he follows Sam out of the kitchen. 

  
"You too. Thanks for fixing my rib." She smiles at him sweetly. 

  
Dean watches her rinse her plate and mug, leaving them on the draining rack. He walks over with his own mug and stands next to her. 

  
"It's gonna be okay. We'll figure this out." he says as he washes the mug, placing it on the rack next to hers. "Follow me."


	4. 4

I follow Dean out of the kitchen, the opposite way to where Sam and Cas are headed. He leads me down another short corridor before we come to a huge garage, filled with all sorts of cars, motorbikes too. I recognize his car almost instantly having caught a glimpse of it out on the road. We get in and the engine roars to life, I watch him smile to himself, pressing a tape into the stereo as he pulls out of the garage. I almost grin when I hear the opening of War Pigs thunder out of the speakers as he puts his foot down, tyres screeching slightly as we join the main road. For the first time since I woke up here, I close my eyes and exhale fully, soaking in the moment. Music has always been a huge comfort to me and classic rock is my all time favourite, a little bit of familiarity in this totally unfamiliar place.

I realise I must have fallen asleep when Dean nudges me gently from the driver's side.

"Hey, wake up, we're here. You know you're probably the only person I've met, other than me and Sam, who can sleep like a baby through _Black Sabbath_." he grins at me before he gets out of the car.

I stretch, blushing slightly then get up to join him. "Sorry, I was pretty tired. Must have heard my jam and just chilled out." I say, embarrassed, wondering whether I had been sitting there, head back, mouth agape. _Attractive._

"Nah, you're good. What other bands d'you like?" He looks at me quizzically as we walk through the glass doors of the mall.

"Ha! It'd be easier to show you my record collection." I blush, remembering that that had been how my dad had asked my mum on a date for the first time. "Or Spotify." I add quickly. Then I think. "CCR, Led Zep, Floyd, Clapton, Hendrix, The Doors. There are far too many to list." I explain excitedly.

"Okay, sweet. Wait, whats Spotify?" He says, his face a mixture of impressed and confused.

"Like a digital record collection." I say, guessing that music streaming services are probably not something he's aware of, judging by the cassette tapes in his car.

"You collect vinyl? You look too young for that." He says as I browse the racks in the first clothes shop we'd come to.

"I'm 27. Or 22, depends how you wanna look at it. It's not as though I've magically lost the last 5 years huh?" I wink at him, holding up a pair of skinny jeans to my waist. The shop keeper has clearly spotted me and is watching like a hawk. I can't say I blame her, if it was my shop I'd be wary of me too. "And I've been collecting for a while now, inherited a bunch of stuff from my parents when they died. Then vinyl kind of had a revival where I'm from so I bought a bunch of other stuff too." I explain as I walk over to the register.

Dean smiles as he hands me a credit card and I smile back at him. Even so, I feel pretty awkward taking it. As we walk out of the shop and further into the mall, I try to hand the card back but he won't take it.

"You're not done. Keep it til you're finished. In fact you can probably just go ahead and keep that one until we get you home." he says.

"Thanks but I'll pay you back, I promise." I say quickly, hating how unnerved I feel that I can't access my own money.

"Honestly, don't sweat it. The kind of job me and Sam do, you don't get paid a salary for. So we have to find other ways of getting by." he explains, winking at me.

"Right. Well, either way, I owe you." Five shops later, I finish up with all the other essentials, including a new phone. Dean had wondered off for a bit, returning with coffee and a pretzel for each of us. He had been otherwise patient as I'd picked out clothes and we'd chatted bands pretty much the whole time. He seems to love music as much as I do and it's refreshing to have a conversation that actually distracts me from everything else.

"I play guitar. Back home anyway." I tell him as we load the bags into the boot.

"Awesome. I always wanted to learn." he says, a warmth in his voice. His eyes are genuinely glistening in the dusky light of the afternoon sun.

"I could teach you." I offer, taking in his form as discreetly as I can. He's perfect. Small knots start to form in my stomach and I stop myself. "I mean, I could've anyway but this whole situation... ugh. Who knows, if I don't get home soon maybe I will." I sigh, breaking eye contact and staring down at my feet. _Fuck._ My eyes shoot back up when I feel his hand on my shoulder, sending invisible sparks surging underneath my skin.

"We'll get you home." he says, comforting me. "Thanks for the offer, all the same." he adds as he walks round to the front of the car.

As he pulls out of the carpark, I look at him through the mirror, silently asking for permission. He nods his agreement at me and I grin, picking out a tape. I flip through them until I find what I'm looking for and click it into the stereo.

"Nice choice." He says as we speed back towards the bunker.

I smile as I lean back, tapping one foot rhythmically against the floor to _Crazy Circles_. He glances at me, through the mirror, then back to the road as his foot hits the floor.

***

When we get back, I take the shopping bags back to the room Sam had shown me earlier and pack away the new clothes and shoes. I plug in the new - old I guess? - phone and switch it on, it has a bit of battery already so I set it up as quickly as I can, which turns out not to be quick at all since my email address doesn't work here. Once I've set up an account, I decide to try searching social media for any trace of my life, friends, family - nothing. I _Google_ myself but I don't exist here, at all. I tuck the phone into my pocket, still finding it odd that I'd had that exact same handset four years ago.

Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I look strange, still wearing Dean's clothes, not quite myself. So, I close the door and retrieve a full new outfit to change into. I'm sitting on the bed to lace up my boots after changing and applying a bit of makeup when there is a knock at the door. I get up and open it to find Dean standing in the hall, one arm resting on the door frame. My breath catches in my throat as I notice his eyes trailing from my face, down my body and back up to meet my eyes.

"Hey I was just about to come find you guys."

"Okay well Sams in the library and we've got beer and pizza." He smiles hungrily. "Hope you like pizza?"

"Sounds great."

He turns and heads towards the library with me tagging along behind him. Sam is already sat at one of the tables, books swiped to one side, two pizza boxes and a six pack sat in their place. I sit down and he slides a beer over to me.

"Thanks man." I say before taking a large gulp of it and grabbing a slice of pizza.

After dinner with a couple of beers, we talk more about our two worlds and I learn more about hunting. Specifically, the Winchester's history, which is pretty tragic to say the least. As morbid as their world sounds, it still fascinates me. I'd never dreamed that these things were remotely possible, let alone thought for a moment they could be anything other than fairy tales.

"I mean, I'm pretty sure there aren't monsters and demons, any of that crap, back home." I ramble, suppressing a hiccup. "At least I was sure, until yesterday. Guess musics the same, tech pretty much by the look of it." I say, prodding the screen of my phone. I'd downloaded Spotify and started trying to build up my playlists over the course of the evening, to my delight everything I'd looked for so far had shown up.

"Ahh, no monsters, no demons... can you imagine it Sammy?" Dean drawls as he pours each of us a stronger drink. I eye the tumbler eagerly as he passes it to me. He smirks in response, eyebrows raised.

"Sounds dreamy." Sam yawns as he sips his drink. "You know, I'm calling it. You guys should probably get some rest too."

"After these." Dean nods.

"Night Sam."

"Night guys." Sam says as he wonders off down the corridor to bed.

"Wheres Castiel?" I ask Dean as I top up my drink.

"He went to check out something apocalypse related I think." he tops up his glass too.

"Sams right you know, you should get some sleep. Been a long day."

"Yeah I know, not sure how well I'll sleep when theres so much crap to think about." I slur slightly, tipsy and exhausted. "And you're sposed to go to bed too right? Why you still drinking?" I tease him. His face drops a little, jaw clenched and I feel suddenly guilty.

"Put it this way, your worlds a mess and it's out of your hands. Our worlds screwed 'cause me and Sam fucked up. Set free a force we have no idea how to handle." he sighs.

I top up both our drinks again.

"You didn't fuck up though."

"What do you mean?" he asks, bemused.

"Sounds to me like your lives have been more than pretty rough. I've found the last few months back home, and loads of junk before that, hard to deal with but it's not really comparable to the apocalypse happening. Or having to be the ones to stop it, over and over again." I explain. "Don't get me wrong, everyone has struggles relative to their own lives. But I don't think you should beat yourself up about being cosmically screwed." I raise my glass. "To doing the best you can do in a bad situation."

"Cheers." he smiles as our glasses clink together and he drains his drink. "Better go to bed."

"Night Dean." I say as I tuck my chair in and head off to bed.

***

After I've closed the door, I flop down onto the mattress and pull the quilt up, around my shoulders. The bed is comfortable and physically I feel a hell of a lot better than I did earlier, but my thoughts are still racing. I'm what my mother would have called 'over tired' and I'm confident that another couple of drinks would do the trick. Instead of sneaking back to the library, I toss and turn until my mind starts to quiet down a little. I close my eyes, carry on trying to empty my mind but there is one stubborn thought that won't leave my head. As I drift off to sleep, the last thing I think of is Dean Winchester. His intoxicating eyes, lit up by the sun, the way his muscles moved as he gripped the steering wheel, hands drumming to the music. His electrifying, kind smile.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so damn nervous posting my writing because I've never shared any of it with anyone before! So I just wanted to say, thanks for comments/kudos :) it's appreciated and honestly it makes me smile so much.

It's been five days since I got here and I'm no closer to getting home, nor to finding any answers. Sam and Dean have had to go away for work so they've left me here with Castiel. At first, I'd been relieved not to be left alone but now my palms are sweating and my mouth is dry as we sit opposite each other, a pile of books separating us. Truth be told, I'm nervous about spending time in the company of a bloody angel. I never have been religious and I certainly haven't lived my life up until now thinking I'd be judged when it ends. That is not to say that I think I've been a bad person, just that I'd thought the end is just that - finality.

Rather than being a source of comfort, the confirmation that there is such a thing as a soul has rocked me more than I'd like to admit. Selfishly, all I can really think of is mum and dad. Maybe there is a part of them still out there, maybe they really did end up in a better place. Or maybe not. The uncertainty of everything is almost to much to bare. A few days ago, I'd been resolute that the supernatural was not a part of my world but the more I think about it, the more I realise it must be, at least some of it. There is no other explanation for what has happened to me, unless I've died and I just don't know it.

Flipping through the pages in front of me, I find it difficult to concentrate on them. Images depicting creatures that would make anyone's toes curl are not a helpful distraction from the storm raging on behind my eyes. To make matters worse, the nightmares have started again, though thankfully the headaches haven't returned with them. For now anyway. Before this year, I hadn't dreamt a lot and when I did, found it hard to recall any specific details within half an hour of waking. Now, I can't seem to forget them. Last night, like every night since they'd scooped me up, the last thing I thought of before I drifted off, was Dean.

Although I feel like a total fucking idiot about it, I've developed a bit of a crush on him. It's difficult not to, we share loads of common interests and on top of that he is drop dead gorgeous. As long as I keep it to myself, I can't really see the harm. It's not as though anything could come of it so why pursue it? I wish I'd dreamt of him too but instead, I dreamt of a different man. Not one I've ever seen before. A short, scruffy character with an unkempt beard. I tried talking to him but he said nothing to me, just looked annoyed that I was there. Nothing much really happened, but there was a feeling of foreboding, a pit in my stomach telling me that something was wrong. He'd clicked his fingers and then I'd woken up.

Cas looks up from the book in front of him and clears his throat.

"You need a break, some food." he says assertively but somehow still making it sound like a question.

"Yeah, I guess." I agree as we get up and walk through to the kitchen. He makes a pot of coffee for me while I get myself a sandwich and sit at the table. It's weird eating around someone who doesn't need food. Sam and Dean seem unfazed by it so I try not to overthink it, but my curiosity gets the better of me.

"Cas, why don't you eat?" I ask once I've swallowed my mouthful.

"Because I'm not human. I can eat but it's not necessary." he replies simply.

"Well no offense but you definitely look like a person." I say without really considering it. He looks so much like a man that if it wasn't for the fact he'd healed me the way he did that first day - or that he doesn't eat, I'd find it hard to believe he isn't.

"My vessel has been vacant for some time now, the soul occupying it, a very devout man... he passed on." he answers me, never looking away, his expression unwavering.

"Sorry." I say quietly. "Still, Heaven. Must be nice to know theres an eternal ever after huh?" I try to smile.

"You didn't believe in Heaven, did you?" he deflects my question with one of his own.

"No, can't say I did. I'm not sure what to think now. What would happen to me if I died here?"

He can see that this bothers me and considers his response for a minute, breaking eye contact, brow creased. "I'm not sure, but you're human so I assume the same as all the other humans." he says, looking every bit as unsure as he sounds. "What did you believe?"

I think for a minute myself before answering the question. _There has to be a more eloquent way to say 'worm food' right?_ "Well, the nicest way I've heard it described is to imagine a wave. It rises from the sea and for a moment, it is - it exists in it's own right. But then it crashes onto the sand and the water returns to the ocean, to where it belongs. The wave is like our bodies. We die, they return to the earth."

"And your soul?"

"I'd never considered that souls were separate, real even, until I came here." I explain. "I'd always thought it was our DNA that makes us who we are, makes us unique. Pure scientific chance. As far as I was concerned, God, Heaven, Hell - it was fiction and organised religion just another way of controlling people through fear." anxious as I may be, I can't lie to him. I could try, but it wouldn't change my thoughts or feelings on the matter and I'm pretty sure he'd know. Fortunately, he nods, understanding me, whether or not he agrees.

After lunch, I decide that I can't take any more reading, at least for today. The guys told me they have Netflix and to my surprise, Cas joins me for a good binge. He might not need to eat, but it turns out that even angels can't resist the joy of entertainment. Before I know it, we've watched a whole series of _Orange Is The New Black_ , complete with my narration to explain the things that Cas can't seem to fathom. I think I'm starting to see what Sam and Dean like about him. In addition to the fact that he obviously cares about them - would put his life on the line for them - he is fascinated by humans, willing to learn about us. I guess it goes some way to explaining how it seems so easy for me to confuse him for one.

***

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

"You like her, admit it." Sam laughs at his brother, flicking him playfully with the dish towel.

Dean grunts in response, unamused. "She literally fell out of the sky, I'm just trying to make her feel welcome."

"Oh yeah? Because a bar is definitely the best place for that." Sam quips back. "Nah I'm serious Dean, I've seen the way you look at her."

"Well she practically hasn't left the bunker yet and we both know it's better if we're there to protect her when she does. Can't keep her here like a damn prisoner. And I need a night off, don't you?" Dean grumbles defensively.

"Yeah, well you've still been checking her out." Sam taunts him under his breath.

"You know what man, sue me." Dean snaps grumpily.

She'd been there for almost three weeks now and in a way she had settled in. Though the routine she'd developed at first had been a problem. She'd cycled through the first few days days drowning in coffee, curled into an armchair she'd taken a liking to, searching the internet for answers - any proof her old life existed. Dean had watched her slump, defeated every time she'd found nothing.

When he and Sam had had to leave for a case, they'd enlisted Cas to keep an eye on her, make sure she was okay while they were gone, even though she didn't seem to move from that damn chair. When they'd come home it was as though she'd accepted that for now, there was nothing more that any of them could do. He, Sam and Cas had made a real effort to make her feel at home, cheer her up. Sams been training with her in the gym which he had to admit, was not a bad idea, at least he can teach her how to defend herself if it comes to it.

Eventually she'd stopped endlessly scrolling through her phone all the time, replacing it with books from the library. Dean hadn't been sure that it was a good idea for her to bury herself in lore but if it made her feel better, who was he to stop her? Night after night, she'd stay up late, listening to music, chatting to them or reading. But she wasn't their biggest problem right now, that spot was still reserved for Amara.

He and Sam need a break, they haven't stopped in what feels like forever, moving straight on to the next case, trying to track down Amara using the trail of soulless victims she'd left behind her. It hadn't been a huge shock to find that Crowley had moved in on her, hungry for the power that she'll soon wield, like a sleazy salesman praying on the vulnerable. But Amara is anything but vulnerable, if anything, she was the threat and Crowley was definitely way out of his depth with her, unable to control her appetite or manage the havoc she was causing him. It had almost been entertaining to watch until she'd deflected Dean's attempt at an attack and walked out of there unscathed.

Coming back to the bunker, back to Castiel and Emily had been a welcome distraction from whatever had happened back there with the Darkness. Although he had jumped to protect his brother, Dean hadn't wanted to hurt her. Being in her presence still felt blissful and he couldn't break out of that bliss, he felt powerless. Once they'd caught up with Cas, he'd left to track down Metatron and Dean had thought it a pretty good idea for him, Sam and Emily to get out for a night, relax a bit. They won't have to venture too far and he'll be there to make sure all is well so he is happy, looking forward to it even. In part, because he has enjoyed the conversations they've already had but more so because he's captivated by her - the girl who'd come from nowhere. He isn't sure why and even though it frustrates him, he can't seem to help it.

That first night, after she'd gone to bed, he'd sat up a while longer, had another drink. He'd found himself hoping that maybe she'd come back for a bit. What she'd said, the way she'd said it. The fact that this very lost, beautiful stranger had looked him up and down, heard his story and decided that he was not to blame for all of it. So yeah, maybe he does like her, but he sure as hell ain't gonna admit it to his brother who is now wearing a smug grin as he dries the dishes. Besides, it's not as though he can actually do anything about it. His priorities are to keep her safe and get her home. Thats the right thing to do after all.

***

Although my whole life is ~~upside down~~ literally shoved into an entirely different universe, the last few weeks could have been worse. Thats what I keep telling myself anyway. I've been working out with Sam and to be fair, it's helped me feel a bit better, more in control of myself, even if I'm not. I don't think I could handle working out with Dean, not with the way he makes my heart swell and my stomach flutter. I've not felt this awkward, this intense, since I was a teenager. Difference is, I have to look this man in the eyes at every mealtime. Fucking typical that I catch feelings for someone who isn't from the same world, or time even, as me. He is utterly unattainable, unavailable. So, I've tried my absolute best to be friendly but nothing more. Complicating this situation any more than it already is, no way thats a good idea.

Be that as it may, I'm looking forward to a night out. I haven't really been anywhere since I got here, partly because they've told me it could be dangerous - nobody knows I'm here and in the circumstances, thats probably for the best. Mostly because it scares me, I don't know this place. The bunker is huge in itself and the outside world is the unknown. It's been months since my last proper night out. The pubs and bars back home had only been open about a month when I came here, going for a couple of glasses after work had only been possible thanks to outside seating and summer sunshine.

Once I'm dressed, I apply a full face of makeup for the first time in weeks. I look at myself in the full length mirror I'd hung on the back of the door. "Not bad... All things considered." I tell myself quietly, attempting to be convincing. I'd chosen a pair of black skinnies, a black tank and my black boots. I sling a shirt over the top of it and head towards the kitchen.

Just before I get to the threshold, I overhear them, arguing I think. I back track a few steps but I can still hear raised voices.

"You know what man, sue me." It's Dean and he sounds pissed.

I hang a few paces back from the doorway, my insides knotting up with nerves, not wanting to burst in on their confrontation and make things more awkward. After a few seconds of silence, I walk into the kitchen, making my footsteps as heavy as possible to ensure they hear me.

"Hi." I announce my arrival and they both turn to look at me. "You guys ready?"

"I'll be in the car." Dean grunts grumpily as he walks past me.

"Whats up with him?" I ask Sam.

"Ah it's probably nothing." Sam says as he puts away the last dish. "Good to go?"

"Yeah." I say and start making my way towards the garage with him in tow.

The drive is short but spending it in silence with Dean periodically shooting death glares at his brother makes it feel like ages. As much as I'd love to choose another cassette from the collection, the tension in the car clearly says 'not right now' so instead, I pop an earbud in and listen to my phone. When we finally reach the bar, the silence is only broken by Dean asking me what I want to drink. I'm not sure what I want, so I ask him to surprise me while Sam finds us an empty booth to sit in.

"Okay, here we go." Dean says as he returns with three beers and three shots.

"Cheers." I say as I lift the whiskey to my lips, knocking it back in one and following it up with a swig of beer. The warmth of the whiskey in my stomach melts away any remaining tension.

"Woah, take it easy." Sam jokes.

"I'm British." I grin and wink at him. "Trust me, I'll be fine." I notice Dean smirk out of the corner of my eye.

"Is that a jukebox over there?" I point to the end of the bar.

"Yup. You need a quarter though, here." Dean says, handing me some change.

"Uh. Which ones... Never mind I'll figure it out." I say as I slide out of my seat and practically run to the machine, sorting through the coins in my hand at the same time. The jukebox looks retro but it's fitted with a touch screen so thankfully, I manage to select a few tracks with relative ease. Before I go back to the table, I grab us another round. When I get back, the first of the songs I'd chosen starts up. _Foreigner - Long Way From Home_. It seems pretty appropriate.

***

"I'll be in the car."

He hadn't meant it to come out quite the way it had. Just a few seconds before, Emily had come into the room and he'd had to get out of there. She looked amazing, confident, a far cry from the way she'd been the first day they'd met. He'd wanted to stare, take her in for a few moments. He probably would have too, if Sam hadn't been there, if he hadn't just been ribbing him for that exact reason. Now he watches her as she strides up to the jukebox, carefully selecting her choices after a quick scroll through the contents.

" _Foreigner_?" Sam asks her when she gets back.

"Damn straight." she responds, necking one of the shots she'd bought back with her.

"'Atta girl." Dean says as he does the same. She smiles a disarming smile at him and he can't help grinning back.

The three of them talk music for a bit and he watches in awe as she reels off bands, facts, stuff he hadn't even known about, her eyes lighting up as she speaks. After a while, Sam heads to the bar to get them some more drinks, shooting him a wink as he does. Dean glares at him, trying not to let the colour rise to his face where she can see it.

"You okay?" he asks her.

"Yeah I'm good. You good?" she returns his question.

"I'm great." he says. It catches him off guard because in that moment, he genuinely does feel great. It's too easy to relax around her and he knows he shouldn't let himself enjoy it too much. Guilt washes over him. Even if he had needed a break, he should still be working, trying to stop the Darkness. He glances at her and it's almost as if she can sense his thoughts.

"Seriously man, relax. One night isn't going to make things any worse than they already are." she says, though she isn't smiling any more. Her face is blank, eyes more grey than the bright blue they had been earlier. Sams back before he can apologise or explain, putting another round of drinks down in front of them. He takes the short and knocks it back before he can think any more about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know where Emily's story is going and I'm so excited to share it with you. 
> 
> Hope you're all doing okay <3


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the night before. 
> 
> Also, I have updated the tags on this but I feel like I should mention that there will be talk of drinking, hangovers etc and this will probably be a running theme throughout the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been longer than I'd have liked it to be but here is the next bit :D

The bar had smelt like stale beer and old leather but after a few drinks it hadn't mattered. It felt so good to let my hair - and my guard - down for a night. I'd lost count of how many drinks I'd had but I know I'd moved on to neat whiskey after the first 3 beers and I can only hope that I didn't completely embarrass myself in front of them. There are parts of the night that are certainly hazy. I know it would have been better if Dean could stop beating himself up. It's like every time he relaxes, enjoys a moment of the stressful lives they lead, he punishes himself for it. Drinkings supposed to be fun but it's quite clear that, for him, it's also a coping mechanism. Something that is all too familiar to me. It's a bad place to be.

Sam, on the other hand, was more chill than I'd expected him to be. He was supposed to be taking it easy, designated driver for the night but that had gone out the window once we'd gotten started. I'm pretty sure he doesn't make a habit of drinking like that but we'd all stayed until closing time, staggering out of the place and into a cab. It had taken us most of the way and then we'd stumbled the last couple of miles back to the bunker. Long drunken walks are not something I'm used to and I can feel it this morning. I woke up on my bed, still wearing my shoes, Dean's jacket draped over my shoulders, head a bit worse for wear. Sitting up, the jacket hits the floor with a clink and when I pick it up, his hip flask is laying on the concrete. Hair of the dog, dad used to swear by it.

One tiny sip later, I'm running to the bathroom, doing my best to stop the sick from rising up my throat before I get there. Thankfully it's empty so I lock myself in a cubicle and throw up, cursing myself as my throat burns. Afterwards I feel slightly better but then I catch a glimpse of myself, makeup smudged around my eyes like a delinquent panda. I splash my face with cold water before showering and brushing my teeth. Once I'm washed I feel more human and less like a whiskey bottle but my head is starting to pound, body punishing me for all that drinking. The worst part is that in my haste to contain the vomit, I didn't pick up a fresh outfit to change into.

I consider putting yesterdays clothes on to walk back to my room but they stink of booze so to avoid retching again, I choose to wrap myself in a clean towel instead and sneak as quickly as possible, back to where I'd come from. Almost there, I'm pretty pleased with myself until a door opens up just in front of me. _Definitely not a wise idea - idiot._ Standing in front of me is Dean, arms folded, his eyes politely averted. _Fucksake._

"Morning." I stutter, face bright red as I scuttle past, not daring to look at him.

"Hey. Hows your head?" he calls after me and I can hear him grin without needing to see it.

"Piss off." I call back, only half joking, as I close the door to my room.

***

Half an hour or so later, after dressing, I psyche myself up, walk out of my room and head to the kitchen. _Son of a bitch_. Dean is sat at the table with a plate of bacon and a cup of coffee. Theres a coffee sitting there for me as well but the smell of the bacon and the feeling of shame turns my stomach so I opt for a glass of water.

"Heads not so good then?" he chuckles.

"Mmm. Sam up yet?" I grumble as I pour another glass of water.

"Ha. Nope. I wouldn't expect to see him for a while." he says with a mouthful of food as I take a seat, resting my chin on my hands.

"Need to go get baby though so he better be up soon." There is an air of concern in his voice. He sees the confusion on my face "... the Impala." he explains.

I open my mouth without really thinking it through first. "Right. Well I can drive." I mean, I _can_ drive but it's been a while. I learned with dad when I'd turned 17 but I'd never really needed a car, it just seemed like an expense, a hassle I could do without. Then when the accident had happened, that had been enough of an excuse for me not to get behind the wheel, so I didn't.

"Yeah? We can take one of the other cars if you're happy to drive it back." his eyes light up. It's obvious he loves that car and clearly the thought of leaving it outside a bar all night was not a pleasant one. I want to help out since I'm part of the reason it happened.

Subtly, I take a deep breath and meet his gaze, mustering as much of a smile as I can manage. "Sure. Let me have this coffee, then we can go if you want?"

***

Dean watches her as she adjusts the mirrors, then rests her hands on the steering wheel. She seems apprehensive.

"You sure you're okay to drive?" he asks her.

"Uh yeah, should be fine." she says as she turns the key in the ignition. "D for drive right? I've never been in an automatic."

"Yeah thats right. Take it slo..." but before he can say anything else, her foot is hard on the pedal and they screech out of the garage at an alarming speed.

"Hey, put something on?" she says, tossing him her phone without taking her eyes off the road. He scrolls through her music, taking the time to see what sort of stuff she's been saving. He presses the screen and soon _Free Bird_ is playing as she heads towards where baby is parked.

"So you don't drive much then?" he assumes.

"Nah. Not a huge fan of driving." she explains. "My parents died in a car accident." she adds, still focused on the road.

_Crap_."I'm sorry." he says, sincerely.

"It's okay. It was a long time ago and I can't avoid it forever, you know?" She sounds more calm than she looks. He nods, understanding her completely. He wonders how long it's been since she lost her parents but he doesn't want to ask her. Near enough everyone who knows him and Sam, knows that their parents are dead and they know how. In fact, the last time they'd had to explain it had been to her and he can attest that it never gets any easier, just older, less raw than it once was. It doesn't take long for them to get to the bar and he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees his car, still parked exactly where he'd left her, safe and sound.

"Thanks, follow me back?" he says, pausing before running to his Baby.

"Yeah, no worries." She says decisively, hands still gripping the wheel.

***

I really fucking hate driving. Although, driving an automatic is definitely easier than the geared monstrosity I'd learned in. It's kind of like being in a go-kart. Or getting your _Legoland_ driving licence, it doesn't really feel like proper driving. Until you're out on the road with other vehicles, following Dean Winchester in his beautiful classic car, trying to keep up without getting too close. I never had mastered keeping an even, steady speed, hell it's not like I even know what the speed limit is. I hadn't considered what might happen if a police officer decided to pull me over and now it's all I can think about.

I spend the whole drive back to the bunker white knuckling it. I only calm down when I pull into the garage behind Dean. If I wasn't still hungover, I could go for another drink but my stomach flips at the thought of it. My legs are shaky as I get out of the car and I lean against it to prop myself up.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean asks, his face laced with concern.

"Yeah, honestly I'm okay. Thanks." I assure him with a wobbly smile before I move to follow him, back to the kitchen for a coffee.

When we get there, Sam is sitting at the table, head resting in his palms.

"Ahh, back in the land of the living Sammy?" Dean slaps his back, laughing.

"Ughh." is all he can manage. I can't help laughing, glad that I'm not the only one suffering. For a big guy, I'd have thought he'd handle it better.

"What are you guys doing the rest of the day anyway?" I ask, secretly hoping that they aren't rushing off for work again, not just yet.

"I'm not sure Sammy's gonna be doing much, are ya?" Dean grins.

Sam shakes his head, groaning.

"There is something I thought we could do though, if you're up for it." Dean says, looking directly at me with his sparkly green eyes.

Sam looks between the two of us, one eyebrow cocked, a subtle smirk threatening the sides of his mouth. Without meaning to, I gulp, my mind filling with the _endless_ possibilities. Pretty sure I'd be up for just about anything with that man. "Uh, what is it?"

"It's a surprise, I'll drive though. Meet me in the garage in 15." he grins at me, then glowers at Sam before scraping his chair across the floor loudly and watching his brother cringe at the noise, snorting at the look on his face before turning to leave the room.

I sit with Sam a little longer, finishing my drink as we fill in each other's blanks from the previous evening. I'm relieved to hear that I hadn't been too messy, apart from getting 'possessive' over the jukebox which, as far as I'm concerned, probably improved the atmosphere for everyone. No guilt for that one. His memory is pretty good but he'd forgotten about falling flat on his arse as we'd walked back to the bunker. His hazel eyes are a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

"Thats what you get for taking us on a 'short cut'." I sigh dramatically and roll my eyes at him.

"I was wondering why my back hurts." he laughs.

"No gym today then?" I grin.

"Definitely not." he grimaces at the thought.

"You gonna be okay?" I ask him.

"I'll be fine, just gotta get more shut eye, maybe some tylenol." he says. He still looks tired, but better than he had when we'd got back earlier.

I get up and rinse my mug, placing it on the draining board before saying bye to Sam. Then, I run back to my room, remembering that I'd left Dean's jacket there and thinking that now would be a good opportunity to return it. Once the door is closed, I stop for a second and take a deep breath in. My heart is pounding away, but not out of fear, I'm anxious. Nervous about spending time together, alone. Still, I'm overwhelmingly glad that I hadn't slipped up after a few drinks, hadn't made any misguided confessions. Although I don't think for a moment that I would do something like that without drinking a bar half dry, it doesn't stop me from worrying about it. Dean is trying to do something nice for me and the last thing I want is to make either of us feel uncomfortable. 

***

Dean had given her his jacket on the way back last night because he knew she must have been cold. Seeing her wrapped in it, stumbling, laughing, joking... it had been enough to take his mind off Amara, even if it was temporary. Enough even, to take his thoughts away from Sammy's batshit notion that God is reaching out to him, talking to him. He almost wishes he hadn't seen her sneaking back to her room earlier, wrapped in nothing but a towel, because now he can't get her off his mind. Dean had watched her the at the bar, being herself in front of them and now he knows. He knows he's screwed. He knows he needs to keep it to himself, keep it in his pants. That doesn't change the fact that he wants to see her happy like that, all the time. He knows what he wants to do for her and even if it's not gonna fix all her problems, he's pretty sure it'll make her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) 
> 
> Hope you're all well <3


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffiness #sorrynotsorry

Waiting for her, he sits in the driver's seat staring into space, debating in his head whether he should be doing this. The truth is that he wants to do something nice for her, something to help keep her distracted, happy. He also wants to spend more time with her - and that, he tells himself, is selfish. It isn't wise either. But Sam is out of action, they don't have a lead and until they do, this is his free time. He knows he can't do anything about how he feels and he doesn't want to creep her out. He doesn't get to argue with himself for very long because it's only a few minutes before she lets herself into the passenger side and sits down beside him. _Too late_. She hands him his jacket and digs around in her purse, pulling out a pair of aviators, sliding them on as he starts the car.

"So, where are you taking me?" she questions him from beneath the mirrored glasses.

"Nope. It's a surprise, I told you." he says playfully. "You gonna..." he gestures to the box in the footwell.

She grins and he relaxes a bit as she flips through his untidy collection of casettes. She settles her fingers on one and hesitates slightly before putting it into the slot on the stereo. _Fire of Unknown Origin_ by _Blue Oyster Cult_. Her elbow is perched on the edge of the open window, head resting against her closed fist. The sun shines through the windscreen, lighting up the different shades of gold through her hair as it dances in the breeze. The next time he goes to steal a glimpse of her, she is staring right back at him. He looks away quickly, focusing his eyes on the road ahead.

"Okay, well if you won't tell me, can I guess?" she asks with mischievous grin.

"Nope." he says firmly, standing his ground. "Unless you hate surprises?" he adds in a softer tone.

She giggles. "No you're fine. I'm just impatient."

"How's your head now?"

"Hangover you mean? Yeah it's gone, I'm good now." she answers.

"I didn't mean the hangover." he says, glancing over at her again.

"Oh. Well I'm still having weird dreams but the headaches have pretty much stopped." she thinks for a minute. "In fact, I haven't had pain like that since the day I got here."

"Thats gotta be a good thing, right?" he shrugs lightly without jerking the steering wheel. It's as much a question for him as it is her. He's never experienced something like this either and despite tapping into just about every resource they can, he and Sam still have squat.

"I dunno. Ever feel like you belong somewhere else?" she asks him.

"I guess so." he answers her as he pulls over into a parking spot. He wants her to have this, to be able to forget that she doesn't belong here, if only for a moment. "That," he points "...is where you belong right now though."

She turns to look and when she realises where they are, her face is ecstatic. She is out of the car faster than he can turn off the engine.

"A music shop? It's bloody huge!" she beams at him from several paces ahead, then she stops "Thank you, Dean."

"You're welcome. You deserve it, sweetheart." he smiles back, relieved that he'd trusted his judgement. Seeing her like this, it was worth it.

***

_Sweetheart._

My heart almost skipped a beat when that word escaped his mouth in that alluring, gravelly drawl. I was already excited, appreciative and genuinely surprised, in a good way. Then, when he'd called me sweetheart, something deep down in me snapped. _Yep, my resolve, thats what snapped._ Still, another sort of excitement courses through me, hairs rising on the back of my neck as I browse through a wall of acoustic guitars. I haven't played for over almost a month and my fingers are itching to flex. But stood literally inches from me is Dean, watching me intently as I stroke the body of a beautiful dark wood solid top with steel strings.

In spite of anxiety, stage fright isn't something I've ever really experienced before but in this moment, I'm torn between gently lifting the guitar from it's hanger and running away, hiding from this man who's opinion means so much to me for reasons I don't want to accept. Having Dean here with me feels like pressure, more because of how I feel about him than how I feel around him. He can see I'm fighting a battle in my head and rather than pry, without saying a word, he backs off and leaves me to do what I need to do. Once he is out of my eyeshot, my heart calms to a less alarming pace. I pluck the instrument from the wall, sit down on a stool in the corner of the room and let the muscle memory take over. Time seems to slow down when you're doing something that feels so completely natural to you and as usual, I lose track of it. I'm not sure how long it's been before Dean pokes his head around the corner and I'm not sure how long he's been stood there when I look up.

"That the one?" he asks me, diffusing the atmosphere a little.

"Yup, I think so." I confirm, standing up with the guitar in one hand.

"Here, let me." he takes it from me and walks over to the register with it before I can protest.

***

"Seriously, thank you. You really didn't have to do that." she says quietly as she gazes out of the window, taking in the surroundings. Theres a look on her face he can't quite identify, an odd mixture of satisfied and wistful. He wonders what she's thinking about but he doesn't ask her.

"I didn't have to, I wanted to." he says, glancing up at the mirror to catch her eyes.

"You kinda cut me off earlier." she says as their eyes meet.

"What are you talking about?" he frowns, a pit forming in his stomach.

"When I asked you if you've ever felt like you belong somewhere else." she says.

He remembers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Don't apologize, it's okay. It's just that I meant... never mind." she trails off, her cheeks red.

"Go on..." he's curious now.

"Well it sounds ridiculous but there are times that I feel like I'm supposed to be here, like this is right. Even the dreams I've been having, they're the same but different."

He stays silent for a minute, this is not what he'd thought she was going to say earlier.

"New people, places, feelings. I've no fucking idea what any of it means." she continues. "Maybe it's me thats different." she says with a shrug. "Sorry."

" _You_ don't need to apologize, I get you." he comforts. 

"Glad someone does." she sighs, returning to staring out of the window, wearing the same unidentifiable expression as before.

***

I spend the rest of the drive silently kicking myself for saying any of that shit to him after I'd managed so well not to spill my guts the night before. It was the truth, but not the whole truth. Deep down, I wish I had the courage to say what I want to say without panicking about it. I have always bottled up my feelings, pushing them down, only ever worrying about spewing them out after a few drinks. What I'd wanted to say was that I really do feel like I'm supposed to be here, _when I'm with him_. He makes me feel more like myself than I have in a very long time. I enjoy our time together more than I'd enjoyed the company of anyone from my life before. The added danger of the fact that I actually really, _really_ , like him only makes me want to chase the feeling more.

It doesn't seem to matter how scary my dreams are any more, because it's like my sub-conscience knows that him and Sam can protect me. And I feel selfish for even thinking it because they definitely have bigger fish to fry. But it's true. Most of all I feel guilty. Dean has done something thoughtful, very kind, and I've tainted it by overthinking, over feeling. When we near the bunker, instead of pulling into the garage, Dean parks outside the main entrance.

"Why're you stopping here?" I ask him.

"I wanna show you something." he says, reaching into the rear footwell and pulling out a six pack. He gets out of the car and takes the guitar from the boot.

"Uh, okay." I mumble as I start to follow him. We walk for a few minutes, behind the bunker, into the woods. It's dusky, sunlight and moonlight blending together, changing the hue of the canopy above us. He stops when we reach a felled tree in a small clearing, leaning the guitar against the trunk before pushing himself up onto it with his palms. I join him, scraping my palms against the bark in the process. Once we're both sat there, he opens a beer, hands it to me and then grabs another for himself. I take a sip, staring down at my feet, kicking them clumsily against the trunk. As much as I want to enjoy the moment, I also know that I need to reign myself in. But there is a streak in me that wants the exact opposite, wants to play with the fire.

He clears his throat "I come out here sometimes. When I wanna be alone. When I need space y'know." he explains, snapping me out of my thoughts. "It's safe, private enough. Thought you might need somewhere like this sometimes too." he rambles but the sentiment is clear.

"It's pretty." I acknowledge, looking up at the sky. The sun is setting, the stars peeking out through the last of it's rays. Far enough from the road not to hear any noise from passing cars, the only sounds are the breeze, the birds singing as they soar across the evening sky. I look across at him and when our eyes meet my heart feels like it might melt, his huge green irises drawing all of my attention. His chiseled features, skin peppered with barely-there freckles, every part of him utterly flawless. Every fibre of me aches to reach out and touch him. It takes every shred of willpower I have, the fear of rejection and the humiliation associated with it, for me not to just lean into his shoulder. Instead, I try not to fall from the tree as I reach across and grab the neck of the guitar from beside him.

"Okay, cool. I'll just be back there." he points through the trees, towards the bunker. "Text me if you need anything."

I watch him walk away and once I'm satisfied that I'm alone, I start to play, singing softly in case anyone does pass by:

_"World was on fire and no-one could save me but you,_

_It's strange what desire will make foolish people do,_

_I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you,_

_And I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you,_

_No, I don't wanna fall in love,_

_No, I don't wanna fall in love,_

_With you..."_

But I'm afraid it might be too late for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


	8. 8

Approaching Metatron, Castiel feels what he thinks a human would consider rage. First, he heals the dying man that he'd been filming. Then, after allowing him to go on with some false sentiment about 'pulling himself up by the boot straps' now that he is human, and apparently loving it, Cas lets some of that rage loose, beating Metatron near to a pulp. It's freeing, after everything the Scribe had done to him, to the Winchesters. What he had wanted to do to the whole world... When he's done, Metatron, through gritted bloody teeth, tears running down his bruised cheeks, finally reveals what he knows about the Darkness. About God's 'sacrifice'. His _sister_. She is God's sister.

  
Metatron had thought he'd done well to hide the Demon tablet, but now that he's human, he's also predictable. Cas had managed to snatch it before confronting him and it's satisfying, pulling it from inside his trench coat, watching Metatron's whole face drop. He could kill him. Here and now. But Castiel tells himself it's not worth it, he's no threat to anyone, not in this state. Besides, leaving him like this is a fitting punishment for someone with such a huge sense of self importance. So Cas walks away, calling Dean on the way back to his car to tell him what has happened. Sam and Dean have been arguing, Sam convinced that God is telling him to go to Lucifer, that Lucifer can help to bring Amara down. Dean is obviously not happy and Cas isn't exactly on board either because Lucifer is certainly not to be trusted. That being said, it doesn't look like they have much choice. 

  
***

  
"Here, take this number, if you can't get hold of either of us, or Cas after a few days, call it." Sam says as he hands me a crumpled business card. 

  
"No worries, thanks Sam." I take the card from him. _Sheriff Jody Mills_. "Who's Jody?" 

  
"She's a friend, someone you can trust." Dean tells me before we say our goodbyes, then they climb the stairs and I hear the squeak and clunk of the heavy metal door closing behind them.

  
They've gotta leave again and this time, theres no one around to baby sit me. It seems like things are getting worse with their whole end-of-the-world situation and I know they aren't sharing it with me, not all of it anyway. They've both been off and a couple of times I've overheard them arguing with each other so I've spent the last few days going between my room and the clearing, either playing or reading. Weeks of reading lore fruitlessly tells me that I'm not likely find the answer to my situation in one of their books, but it hasn't stopped me from trying and at least it's kept me occupied. Besides, it's not entirely pointless since I'm slowly learning about all the things in this world that could kill me, and how to kill them first. 

  
Knowing that I'm alone in the bunker gives it a different, eerie kind of feeling and I find myself pacing the corridors, poking my head into rooms I've not seen yet, feeling a bit lost. Actually, I've been feeling a bit lost in general. Admitting my feelings for Dean to myself hasn't helped me, it's had the opposite effect. In fact, I've been outright avoiding him. My mum always used to tell me that 'acceptance is the key to happiness'. I wish she was here now so I could ask her how the hell that's supposed to work. A pang of sadness fills my heart at the thought, I've never missed my parents more than I do now. They always knew what to do, how to fix things. _You're on your own now, Emily._

  
***

  
"Okay, but you do nothing without me being here - got it?" Dean tells Sam with a stern face. 

  
"Okay, yeah." Sam agrees. 

  
Dean hadn't even wanted to try speaking to Lucifer, shooting his brother down for weeks, but Sam had been adamant that this is the right way to go and he can't deny that they don't really have anywhere else to turn. So after many rows, he'd reluctantly agreed to try it Sam's way. Which bought them here, to Crowley and Rowena. To say it's not ideal is the understatement of the century, but current circumstances mean that they all have a common enemy in the Darkness. If they can't fix this, if they can't defeat her between them, she will destroy everything. Any spark of hope the brothers had that they could do this alone, had been dampened by Castiel's revelation that she is God's sister and just as powerful as the absent creator, if not more. 

  
Now he has to leave his brother here with them whilst he goes to check out Amara's latest slaughter. A church full of unlucky parishioners, murdered. Before that, she'd fried a bunch of evangelists in a park. She isn't even trying to keep a low profile, clearly trying to get the attention of her brother who has been MIA for eons. "Pfft... good luck with that." he grumbles aloud to himself as he puts his foot down on the gas. With all of this going on, Dean knows that the last thing he should be thinking about is Emily. She'd been quiet after their afternoon together and he is worried about her. He hadn't wanted to leave her alone, neither of them had. But again, they'd had little choice in the matter.

  
He needs to concentrate on the task at hand he tells himself as he digs his badge out of his blazer pocket, marching over to the church with purpose. Just as they had suspected, the police confirm that there were no survivors, bar one mystery woman who had inexplicably slipped through their fingers. Inside is a blood bath with bodies strewn through the pews. As Dean leaves the church, he can feel her, that calm, unearthly bliss. She is near and he knows it. He finds himself walking around a children's play park, stopping next to a hot dog kiosk. He feels his phone buzzing and even though he sees Sam's name flashing across the screen, he ignores the call, shoving it back into his pocket. 

  
When he looks up, he sees Amara stood beside him. A split second later, they are standing together in a large, empty field. 

  
"You came because you sensed me." she informs him. 

  
He stares at her. "I came here because you put down a bunch of people, Amara. I came because we can't just let you destroy the world." 

  
"You misunderstand me, Dean." she says softly without breaking eye contact. "I need to speak to my brother, settle a score, and it seems that the only way to get his attention, is to harm his flock."

  
"All of this, it's between you and him. You can't keep killing people." he responds, a shortness in his voice. 

  
"The souls I consume aren't dead, they're a part of me now. They'll live on, in me, forever." she explains while he stands opposite her, unable to look away. "My brother was so threatened by me - worried I'd do a better job - that he locked me away, told everyone I'm a threat," she continues. "... but, what if there was no more pain, no suffering? Just that feeling you have now, the feeling you get when you're with me?"

  
Dean thinks for a moment. Part of him is screaming, telling himself that this is wrong, that he needs to do something, anything. But her pull, the way he feels at peace around her, it stops him from trying to do anything but talk to her. "And what do you get out of it?" he asks. 

  
"Everything." she says simply. 

  
"So you wanna be God?" he asks her in disbelief, anger beginning the bubble away under his skin. 

  
"The dark to his light." she explains, turning away from him. 

  
Something inside him breaks and momentarily, so does her hold on him. He takes the opportunity to reach into his jacket, pulling out his dagger. Before she can turn back to face him, he swings it at her abdomen but to his dismay, the blade shatters into tiny pieces as it makes contact with her. He tenses up, preparing himself for the inevitable as she grabs his face, pulling it up to meet hers. 

  
"I know you want to resist me, but I can't be resisted."

  
Rather than sucking out his soul as he'd thought she would, she plants her lips on his, kissing him. He backs away, confused. "What was that?"

  
"It's the future, it's destiny. We're bonded because you set me free." she tells him, but there is a flicker of uncertainty on her face. "We will be together, Dean." 

  
"Not gonna happen." is all he says, his heart thumping away at the bottom of his throat. 

  
***

  
"We're ready, we can't be waiting around for your brother." Rowena pushes Sam.

  
When he gets Dean's voicemail, he knows she is probably right so in spite of his brother's words ringing through his head, he agrees. Soon, he, Rowena and Crowley are stood in Limbo, one of Hell's barren, dark plains, preparing the spell that will allow him to do what God has been telling him to do. The cage is warded, surrounded by a ring of holy fire and he is confident, ready to face this. Rowena finishes the spell while Crowley stands before the cage as Lucifer appears. Sam can't deny the anxiousness he feels when Lucifer realizes that he is there too, soon losing all interest in Crowley and focusing solely on his former vessel. 

  
"Ahh, I see 'Houston we have a problem'. How did that happen huh, Sam? And wheres pops in all of this?" Lucifer croons, a wry smile on his face, knowing that if the Darkness is loose, it'll be something to do with the Winchesters.

  
"All current indications of his presence... actually, there are none." Sam admits. "But he has reached out recently... to me. Answered my prayers." he swallows hard, trying not to let it show. "He told me to find you." 

  
"Oh really? Interesting..." Lucifer mocks from behind bars. "Well, I mean I did help to put her away last time, but I can't do much from in here..." 

  
"You need a vessel." Sam says, the realization of where this is going dawning on him. 

  
"Bingo. Not just any vessel either. One that's big and strong." Lucifer points at him and winks.

  
"No." Sam says firmly but as he does, the warding starts to glow, then fades completely. Next, the holy fire dies out and before he can even blink his wide eyes, Sam is stood in one corner of the cage. Rowena and Crowley are nowhere to be seen. As Lucifer advances on him, Sam starts to panic but, remembering that this is God's will, he takes a deep breath in and calms himself. 

  
"This is how he told me it would be." he looks directly into Lucifer's eyes with a fleeting smile.

  
Lucifer's own insidious grin only grows wider. "You know, when you set free the Darkness, it caused shock-waves down in Hell too, damaged the cage," Sam's confidence begins to waver as he continues, drawing closer towards him with each word. "... which allowed me to reach out, whisper in your ear. See Sam, God was _never_ with you. It was little old me, always has been." 


	9. 9

I wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, crying uncontrollably. Of all the nightmares I have had in the last year, _that_ was by far the worst. It wasn't about the virus or the supernatural or any of that crap. It was about my parents, the crash. The burning wreckage, the warbling sirens too far in the distance to make any difference, the bystanders unable to help, left to watch the horror unfold. I wasn't there but it has never stopped me from picturing it, survivor's guilt turning into a twisted form of self torture. I wasn't there that day but I was supposed to be. There had been a last minute change of plans and that is the only reason I'm still breathing now. No one could have survived that accident.

It happened just before my 19th birthday and I remember it like it was yesterday. Another weekend, another university open day. They were both academics, insistent that I follow in their footsteps, starting with higher education, then on to some high-flying career. I'd never wanted to get on that path, I was determined to get a job and start funneling the money back into my music. Neither of them had particularly desirable careers in my opinion and I wanted to do something that made me feel alive, not just surviving. The compromise had been for them to _'allow'_ me to take a gap year between college and uni, explore a bit before coming to the conclusion they'd ultimately prefer.

This particular open day was far from my home town and they'd incentivized the whole thing by booking a weekend away. I'd protested from the moment they'd mentioned it, insisting that I wasn't interested, but they were both stubborn, yet another trait they'd passed to me. It had culminated in a huge row the night we were meant to leave. I'd stormed off after telling them in no uncertain terms that my life was mine, not theirs and that I'd make my own way. It was typical of them to do what they did next. They didn't escalate the argument, just told me that they loved me, they were trying to help me do what is best for myself, that they would go and see what the place was like and we'd talk when they got back.

I never saw them again. Their bodies were unrecognizable so they were ID'd from their dental records and then it was up to me to arrange the funerals, inform what little family we had. In fact, our only real _family_ had been the old lady we'd lived next door to when I was small, I'd called her 'granny' one day and it had stuck. All of the other attendees had been their friends, colleagues. After their funerals, I was informed that I was the only beneficiary on their will, they'd left me the house, their savings. I'd stayed at home for a while, hosted more than a few parties, had my friends crash on the couch. Anything to avoid the lonely, empty feeling I'd been left with. But they eventually went home, to their own families and it had felt wrong, rattling around the house alone.

A couple of months of solid drinking-to-forget, I sold the house and bought my own place, smaller, closer to the seafront. I calmed down, got therapy, tried to move on. Never did go to university but I studied accountancy, working as an trainee until I qualified. Although I never thought I'd be a rockstar, I had always thought I'd end up doing something music related. Of course, that is not how things worked out and music had become a hobby, something for the weekends, definitely not a career path. I'd kept telling myself that I'd change things, work on it until it was a realistic prospect. Wouldn't have mattered anyway since I'm here now. The thoughts swirl around my brain as I pick myself up from the bed, throwing on a big t shirt and a pair of joggers.

As I slam the door to my room, I'm already running. I leave the bunker, passing through the woods behind it, not stopping until I can barely breathe and I'm bent double on the side of the track, heaving. I am not a runner. As soon as it's physically possible, I turn around and run back, heading straight for the gym, my lungs burning as my feet hit the ground. The gym in the bunker is large and well equipped. Through shallow, ragged breaths, I start to punch the boxing bag that hangs from the ceiling on one side of the room, the way Sam had taught me. Sweat runs down the nape of my neck, soaking my t-shirt. I punch and punch until my arms hurt and my knuckles are swollen and bruised, tears still running down my flush cheeks. A couple of cursory kicks later and I'm spent, the pain, the anger and the guilt subsiding for now.

***

"Cas? I need you here. I'm in Nebraska, going to Hell." Dean barks down the phone, into Castiel's voicemail, as he speeds down the highway. His conversation with Amara had been cut short when 3 angels showed up, asking her to back down. Instead, she had killed them with a disturbing ease before Heaven had unleashed it's full power, smiting her with everything they had. She'd snapped Dean back to the park but when he'd tried to drive back to where they had been, he hadn't gotten very far. He'd had to pull over to the side of the road, dizzy and confused, throwing up.

"Smiting sickness." Cas had confirmed before going to investigate what had happened himself.

Things only got worse from that point. En route back to the bunker, Dean had eventually got a hold of Crowley who in turn had told him that Sam was in the cage, with the goddamn devil himself.

"He'll be okay, probably. Lucifer needs him." Crowley had said with an air of nonchalance before directing Dean to a building in Nebraska where, he insisted, there is a backdoor to Hell.

"Password." a voice comes from the eye-level slot in the door he'd just knocked.

"Crowley sent me here, please just let me in." he asks, his temper rising as each second ticks by.

"Nuh uh. No password, no entry."

"Fine." he huffs before reciting the stupid song.

"Dean Winchester." The woman standing behind the door greets him as he pushes through it.

"You a demon?" he grunts at her, his impatience surfacing. "Not a demon. I'm a reaper, the names Billie." she states.

"Sam told me about you. You want us dead, you want to kill us." he stares at her, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Oh no, not quite, I don't get my hands dirty." she smiles as she hands him a box. "What I told your brother was that the next time you die, consider it permanent. No more coming back." she tells him before she reads a spell, waving her hands over a wall covered in symbols. The wall turns into a door of sorts and he starts towards it. "Careful Dean, it's a long way down..." Billie calls out after him in a subtly menacing tone.

He doesn't turn to acknowledge it, just advances further into the darkness, towards his brother.

***

Sam held up against Lucifer as well as he could. He'd dealt with the mind games, the manipulation but now it was all about pure strength. He may be an excellent hunter and a strong, smart fighter, but Lucifer is an archangel. Right now, Sam is outgunned, outsmarted. He knows Lucifer will break him over and over, only to keep fixing him until he snaps and agrees to be possessed. Still Sam fights, refusing to cower. He beat the devil once before and he isn't going to give in to him now. He keeps on swinging, landing blow after useless blow on his enemy, telling himself he has to carry on.

Just when he thinks he can't take it any more, he hears his brother yelling his name. A few seconds later, Dean and Castiel are caged in with him and Lucifer. Cas rushes Lucifer while Dean goes to help Sam up, telling him quietly that they just need to keep it up for another couple of minutes. Then they fight for what feels like hours, until a bright light envelopes Lucifer, his body vanishing.

"Well, that was a mess." Crowley declares when Cas, Dean and Sam reach him and Rowena, who is still ensnared in the witch trap. "Now, get the hell out of Hell." he clicks his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy reading, there'll be another chapter up very soon :)

"D'you think he's okay though?" Sam asks, his eyes full of guilt and regret. "It just seems like somethings... off."

"He's fine man. Cas is... well he's just Cas." Dean shrugs as he twists open two beers, sliding one along the war room table to his brother. "Look it could be worse, Lucifer and Amara? That really would have been a nightmare."

It's been a tough couple of days and he knows Sam feels responsible for what went down in hell. They've only just made it home and it's late, very late. They're exhausted yet wired at the same time. They'd only just made it out of their latest scrape with the devil and they both have a couple of new scars to show for it. Cas had taken as much of a beating as they had, probably more, but he'd stayed behind, turning down Dean's offer of a lift, assuring him that he'd catch up with them. It's not unusual for him to be a bit weird and Dean would like to think he'd know if something was seriously wrong.

Sam takes a sip of his beer, retreating into his mind, a distant look on his tired face. Clearly, being back in that cage with Lucifer had messed with his head. Dean sighs, leaning back into his chair and staring up at the ceiling. He has no idea what they're going to do next but at least Lucifer is still trapped and as crappy as his brother feels, Dean is proud of him for standing his ground back there. He is also full of guilt for not answering his phone when he'd needed him, being too distracted by Amara. The longer he spends with her, the more difficult he finds it to stand his own ground and he can't bring himself to talk to Sam about it, add to the mess that they're already in.

"C'mon Sam, stop thinking whatever you're thinking. It can wait, go get some rest." he says, resting his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam looks up at him with a vague expression. "Yeah, okay." he says, his eyes darting back down. He gets up, grabbing his bag and bottle of beer. Dean does the same, switching off the light before heading back to his room.

He is tired too but he's not ready to sleep just yet. He strips out of his dirty clothes and pulls on a pair of jogging bottoms then lays down, on top of the sheets, pillows propped up behind him. Soon he is reaching for his headphones, the silence too much, his thoughts deafening. He desperately wishes he could help his brother, hopes that Cas really is okay and that Emily is sleeping, unhindered by her bad dreams. He closes his eyes and exhales, trying to concentrate on _Metallica_ , humming along quietly to soothe himself. Eventually, after what feels like hours, his mind calms and he drifts off, sinking into the mattress, his aching muscles finally relaxing, his brow no longer creased into a frown as sleep envelopes him.

***

**3 DAYS LATER**

"Okay thats good but you need to relax, stop tensing up. Here, let me."

"I'm sorry, it's just... I've never done this before." I say quietly, adjusting my position slightly.

Dean rests one hand on the small of my back and the other over my left hand as he stands beside me, guiding me. It's impossible not to feel tense, imagining his large, calloused hands working their way up my back, my waist, my... I take a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to push those thoughts out of my head and concentrate on the task in front of me. I'd hoped Sam might teach me how to shoot as well as how to fight, that I'd be able to avoid precisely this kind of physical contact with his brother. But Sam's been preoccupied, distant since they got back from wherever it is that they'd been and it's getting increasingly difficult to avoid Dean.

So here I am, with a gun in my hands, trying to keep my shit together and concentrate on Dean's voice instead of letting my mind wonder. This whole situation is even more anxiety inducing than driving, especially now that they've given me a fake driving licence, but I'm trying to be present, receptive.

"That's better. Now, squeeze gently." he instructs me and I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck as I pull the trigger. "Awesome, good shot." he praises me as the target explodes.

"Getting there." I agree happily, as he puts another glass bottle up on the makeshift range he'd put together.

"So... what happened to your hands?" he asks me, a serious look on his face, his green eyes cutting straight through me.

I look down at my bruises, then, shoving my hands into my pockets, stare straight back at him. "Quid pro quo. Whats going on with you guys?" I retort, half hoping that he'll back down.

His eyebrows shoot up, followed by a small, melancholy smirk, then he puts his hands up. "Okay. We faced off against Lucifer, again. In hell. We won, for now." he says bluntly. "Your turn."

"I faced off against the punch bag. It won." I mumble, still processing what he'd said.

"Why?" he questions me.

"Wait a sec, Lucifer? Like, the actual devil?" I think aloud, handing the gun back to him.

"You first." he insists, tucking it into his jacket.

"Well. I was frustrated, upset really. Been having a new nightmare and it's intense." I explain, wishing he'd drop it, the lump in my throat swelling.

"What nightmare?"

"I don't wanna talk about it Dean, please just leave it." I choke the words out, tears pricking the edges of my eyes.

He looks at me, completely disarmed, sorrow replacing the fire in his eyes. When our eyes meet, despite my best efforts not to, I burst into tears. He puts his arms around me and I cry silently into his shoulder for a minute or two before breaking away from his embrace, cringing at myself for being so weak. Rather than back away, he takes a step toward me and reaches out to rest one hand on my shoulder, the other gently under my chin, raising it up so that I can see his face when he speaks to me.

"Hey, I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me anything, okay?" he consoles me in a tone so soft it's barely recognizable. "But I want you to know that you can, I'm here for you." he rubs my shoulder and I use his touch to ground myself.

"It's okay. I'm just sick of feeling like everything is out of my hands when I'm asleep as well as when I'm awake." I sniffle, wiping away tears, embarrassed by my outburst. They're the ones who have been through hell, literally.

***

"Not everything is out of your control." he tries to reassure her. Granted, he isn't great at the whole talking thing, but he does want to be there for her. Seeing her cry had made him feel like he was crumbling too and his gut instinct had navigated him with everything that had come next. It's getting colder outside and he can feel her shivering.

"You wanna go back?" he asks. She nods and they turn to walk back to the bunker, side by side.

When they come down the stairs, Sam is still in the war room where he's been all morning, making bullets and cleaning their weapons.

"Hey man, you good?" Dean asks him. She moves quickly from behind him and slips away, straight down the hall, towards her room.

"Uh. Not really." Sam shoots him a shrug, his lips pursed like he'd meant to smile but couldn't quite manage it.

"Dude give yourself a break, it wasn't your fault. We'll find a way, we always do."

"Yeah, maybe thats the problem." Sam huffs under his breath.

"Fine, I'll be in my room if you need me." he says, defeated.

He can't force him to talk, he'd be a total hypocrite to try. He turns and leaves, first to the kitchen to retrieve two glasses and grab some snacks, taking them back to his room. He stops for a second to think through what he is about to do. His head tells him it's a bad idea, but part of him wants nothing more than to sweep her up, into his arms, tell her it's all going to be okay. The compromise would be to do what he always does, what he does best. He's spent most of his life putting his feelings aside, pushing them down and prioritizing everybody else. He can put aside his feelings for her, be a good man, a good friend, he tells himself. Shrugging to himself, he reaches up to the shelf above his head board, bringing down the bottle of whiskey he stashes there.

He walks back out of his room and turns right, passing one door before he reaches hers. It's closed but he can hear music coming from inside. He leans forward, pressing one ear to the wood.

_"Take your time, don't live too fast_

_Troubles will come, and they will pass_

_Go find a woman, and you'll find love_

_And don't forget son, there is someone up above..."_

He listens until she pauses. She's good, really good - could listen to her all day but he feels like a voyeur, standing here outside her bedroom without her knowledge or permission. He quickly decides to knock, taking a step back afterwards. As the seconds pass, he starts to wonder whether she'll even want to talk to him after what happened outside. Maybe it would have been better to let her carry on doing her thing.

The door swings open and she stands there, looking him up and down, her piercing blue eyes questioning him without her making a sound.

"Hey, you wanna?" He asks her, holding out the bottle.

She flashes him a quick smile and nods, so he leads her back to his room.

"Uh, sit down if you want." he says as casually as he can, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

She sits on the edge of the bed, thanking him when he passes her a glass and the bottle, before busying himself with the beat up box of vinyl under his record player. He doesn't have loads, him and Sam haven't been settled here for too long. Over the years, their only home had been either the Impala, Bobby's place or crappy motels. He settles on _Motorhead_ \- not quiet, not really relaxing - not in the traditional sense, but he knows she'll approve. The record starts to play and he sits himself down a couple of feet away from her, on the opposite end of the bed.

"You know, it'd be really nice if you'd talk to me, too." she says, breaking the silence, studying him intently. "I know you guys are keeping stuff from me. I think it's maybe because you don't think I can handle it. Whatever." she shrugs. "I'd just prefer it if you were honest with me about it."

"It's not like that. We, I... I don't wanna freak you out." he says, trying to give her a measured response. "I mean, you didn't believe in any of this a couple months back."

"I get it, Dean. Really, I do. But I feel like right now, knowledge is the only power I have." she says, her eyes fixed on her glass.

"Alright then, what dyou wanna know?"

***

"So let me get this straight. Last time she was loose, God was involved?" I ask.

"Yup." Dean sighs, draining his glass. "So, anything else?" he looks up at me.

The record is clicking over on the turntable. It stopped a while ago but neither of us has seen to it, we'd carried on talking, me asking questions and him answering them. Yes, they'd really been to Hell. No, they hadn't died, not this time anyway. Yes, they've both died before, multiple times. Yes, he's pretty sure God is real. No, they haven't met him, no one can find him. Yes, the Darkness is his sister. No, she won't stop until the world is gone because she wants to destroy it, get revenge on her brother for locking her away. It's hardly any wonder that him and Sam are exhausted. I think, racking my brain for more questions but there aren't any, at least none that I have the balls to actually ask him.

"Nope, I'm done." I tell him as I get up to flip the record over, filling my glass before sitting back down. "Your turn I guess."

"You don't have to tell me anything."

"I know," I pause, thinking. "... and if I don't want to, I won't answer you. Deal?"

"Okay, deal. Well, whats going on with this nightmare?" he asks me.

"I told you about my parents, how they died," he nods so I continue "Well I wasn't there when it happened. But in this nightmare, I am. I can see it, hear it, smell it but I can't do anything to stop it." my voice cracks but I hold it together, just about. "I wish it would stop, I'd rather have literally any other nightmare." I take a swig of my drink.

"Thats crap, I'm sorry." he sighs.

"It's not your fault so don't be sorry, okay." I smile at him weakly.

"Just wish I could help, y'know?" he says, a mournful look on his face.

"You already are." I say, looking around the room, it's very Dean. There's eye level shelving wrapped around two of the walls, littered with empty beer bottles and various weapons, a few photos of him and Sam, their parents, friends. It's an eclectic mix of things that reflect his lifestyle, his personality. It sort of reminds me of my bedroom when I was growing up, except mine was plastered with band posters and CDs rather than guns and knives. He probably never had a safe space when he was younger, now he has this. When I look back at him, he is staring at me with wide eyes and I realize that I've placed my hand on top of his, our fingers partly interlocked.

Suddenly the atmosphere changes, a heat beginning to fizzle under my skin. _I shouldn't be doing this_ , I think but then I shift a little closer, self control waning, unable to take my gaze off of him.

"Emily, I..." he says looking away, then he stops and turns back to me.

He takes his other hand and places it on my cheek, gently pulling me closer to him. I lean in and close my eyes, my heartbeat racing as I part my lips. It feels surreal, time slowing as his lips press against mine, his stubble grazing my chin as we kiss. Deep down, I've wanted this since the moment I laid eyes on him and it feels so right, his tongue pushing it's way gently into my mouth, his hand dropping down to my waist, fingers splayed, gripping me tightly.

I push him backwards, down onto his pillows, breaking the kiss to swing one leg over him so that I'm straddling him. He sits up, eyes fixed on me, arms wrapped around my back, one hand snaking it's way up to my shoulder blade, the other now resting just above the waist band of my jeans as we make out.

He pulls away for a second. "Should we really be doing this?" he asks me, guilt, or maybe it's doubt on his face.

I run my hands up the nape of his neck, through his hair, pulling him close and planting my lips back onto his to kiss him again before I answer him. "Dean..." I start, but I'm interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Dean? You in there?" Sam calls out from the hall.

_Fuck._

I scramble to get off of him but not without noticing the bulge in his jeans, he sees it too and pulls a pillow over his lap just as his brother walks into the room. I can feel my whole face turning crimson as I sit there, staring down at my feet to avoid eye contact with Sam.

"Oh. Hey guys... hope I wasn't uh... interrupting anything." he says awkwardly. "But I've found us a case, here in Kansas."

"Alright Sammy, gimme a sec and I'll come check it out." Dean says.

"Sure. See you in the library." Sam says, smiling as he closes the door behind him.


	11. 11

"Look, stay here, I'll be right back." he tells her.

"Uh, sure." she says quietly, still staring at her feet.

He scolds himself for letting this happen as he walks through to the library. _So much for being a good 'friend'. So much for putting his feelings aside. So long, self control._ He sees his brother and his stomach ties itself in knots, knowing whats coming.

"What was that?" Sam asks him without looking up from his PC.

"Nothing, whats this case?" It doesn't sound convincing, not in the slightest. _Great_.

"Riiight, nothing." he looks up at Dean and pulls a face. "Uh, a guy found with his head bashed in at a retirement complex. But get this, all the doors and windows were locked, no sign of a break in or anything."

"Okay, give me 20 minutes and we'll head out."

"Dean seriously, whats going on with the two of you?" Sam asks, closing his laptop, no longer joking or teasing. "'Cause it's not _nothing_." His arms are folded, eyes demanding an answer.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, not wanting to talk to his brother about it before discussing it with her. "I don't know. Could you just... just drop it." he doesn't deny anything, but he doesn't confirm it either. In reality, all he wants to do is get back to her, hold her, feel her pressed against him. He wants more than that and he feels guilty for it. _Just 'cause something feels good, doesn't mean it's the right thing to do._

"No, I can't just drop it." Sam shakes his head. "I know you like her, and I'm pretty sure she likes you as well."

"Shut up dude." Dean tries to sound gruff, uncaring - but he can't. He turns to walk back to his room.

"Don't hurt her." Sam calls to him as he disappears from view.

"Don't intend to." he huffs, not sure whether Sam can hear him still.

***

"Sorry but we gotta go." Dean comes back in and starts shoving weapons into a duffel bag. "This case though, it's not far from here. Should be back later." he says as he pulls his t shirt over his head, exposing his perfect, toned body.

My own body reacts, something stirring between my legs as I watch him tug on a crisp white shirt, the definition of his arms showing through the material as he buttons it up. I want to say something but my mind is in conflict, fight and flight both seemingly disabled. I know I need to shake myself out of it.

"Dean, we gotta talk." I say as a wave of heat flushes through my cheeks.

"And we will, I promise." he assures me as he puts on a tie. "Just hang tight, we'll be back later." he smiles at me apologetically as I get up to leave. I'm not happy about it, but it can't be helped, it's the job.

I go back to my room and close the door, too embarrassed to go and say bye to Sam after what had happened. I keep replaying it, over and over again in my head, torturing myself with all the what-ifs. Was this a horrible mistake? _There is no way he could feel the same way about me as I do for him_. I sit on my bed, cross legged with a book open in my lap. But I can't read, can't concentrate on it. I'm not used to this and it feels horrible, the uncertainty of it all. It swirls around my brain until my head starts to pound and I can't sit still anymore. I get up and pace the halls just like I did last time they were gone, feeling equally as lost.

I can't get Dean off my mind and I don't know what to do with myself. I could leave, save myself the hurt and upset that I'm sure is coming. But then, it's not like I have anywhere else to be in this universe. Maybe I should just be honest, admit to him what I've already admitted to myself. Deal with this like a normal, functional adult. _Maybe I should keep my big mouth shut._ I don't want to walk away from him, as much as I know I probably should, for both our sakes. I feel connected to him in a way that I can't explain and perhaps it's a crappy move to tell him that but part of me really wants to.

After walking for what seems like forever, I pour myself a drink and take a seat at the war room table. I spend a couple of hours sat there, alternating between dwelling on my spiraling thoughts; reading and scrolling aimlessly on the internet until I hear the door open upstairs. I jump up, hoping to see Sam and Dean. Instead of the Winchesters though, Castiel practically runs down the metal steps, his trench coat swinging with each step.

"Cas, hey. How are you? You look like you're on a mission!" I ask as the angel steps into my eye line.

"Oh, hello." he says, looking kind of surprised to see me.

"What are you doing here bud?" I ask him as his eyes dissect me, an odd expression on his face.

"I came to look for something." he replies, looking me up and down.

"Need a hand?" I offer, smiling.

"No, it's okay." he rejects me, quickly adding "I need to do this alone." a whisper of a smile on his lips.

He stalks off down one of the hallways without saying anything more and I shrug to myself. "Well alright then..."

He seems... different somehow? _Perhaps thats just what angels are like._ At first, I write it off, but instead of sitting back at the table, I take my stuff and go to my room, shutting myself in for privacy. I flop onto the bed and prop my pillows up, try to get comfortable. All the while, in the back of my thoughts, a cog begins to turn as I try to figure out whats so different about the angel. Sam and Dean had seemed a little different too when they'd returned from hell, but with Cas, something really isn't sitting right. The way he looked at me just then, it was like he'd never even met me.

***

Sam sneaks down to the basement while his brother goes to fetch another gold blade. It's a banshee they're hunting, a malevolent one. Right now, he is chasing down a woman who has been pretending to work at the complex. Turns out that 'Marlene' is on holiday, so whoever she is, they're suspicious of her. He stops in his tracks when he spots the sigil, painted on one of the large metal water tanks. Before he can do anything, he is pinned to it, paralyzed by the spell. 'Marlene' approaches him, brandishing a gold blade, pointing it at him.

"I know who you are, what you are." she says.

"What?" Sam asks. "Wait a minute, please."

"No, I saw you talking to your 'partner'. _'It's feeding time.'_ " her voice wavers but she doesn't, edging closer to him with each passing second.

"No, you've got it wrong. We're not FBI agents. We're hunters, and I think you are, too." he says, and if he could raise his hands defensively, he would.

She stares at him doubtfully until he asks her to test him, then slices his palm open and when she sees that he doesn't react, apart from bleeding, she releases him from the trap. Her real name is Eileen Leahy and she was raised by a hunter after her parents were murdered by a banshee, the same one they're all hunting now. He tells her his name, explains that Dean is his brother and that he has gone to get another weapon. They both agree that it's probably best that they check up on Mildred, one of the residents, since she is probably next in line to be this thing's prey.

Sam watches Eileen signing away with Mildred and resolves to brush up on his own sign language after the banshee has been taken care of because whatever they're talking about, it's eliciting giggles from both of them. Then he remembers that when this case is done, he and Dean should be working on getting rid of Amara. He can't remember the last time he felt like he had real down-time, a chance to focus on anything other than preventing the end of the world and he is tired. It doesn't seem to matter what they do, things always have a tendency to get worse in their lives.

That being said, Dean seems pretty taken with Emily, whether or not he'll admit it. Although he and Dean have work to do, he can see that they make each other smile and he's happy to see his brother like this. Sam had seen him, checking out the brochures, leaflets about this place, discreetly tucking one of them into his blazer pocket earlier. He'd teased him, Dean has always argued that it'd be better to go down in a blaze of glory than to fade away into obscurity. It's completely out of character for him to seriously consider the future, think about settling down. It's like a switch has been flipped.

Sam's mind drifts back to one of the many things Lucifer was taunting him with in the cage, the fact that he hadn't tried to break Dean out of Purgatory, he'd just moved on. It hadn't been that he didn't care about Dean. He'd missed him, almost more than he could bear. But they'd both agreed to stop doing things to bring each other back because it always ends badly, no matter how desperate either one of them might feel. He'd also had a chance at a normal life, the thing he has always craved with every fibre of his being. But it had ended in tears, just like every other relationship he has been in. His heart fills with guilt as his eyes settle back on Eileen.

***

After they've killed the banshee, they say their goodbyes to Mildred, and then to Eileen, though Dean is sure they'll be seeing her again soon enough. This is the first time they've found another 'legacy' and it's a good outcome. Even if she prefers to work alone, it's not bad to have another contact in their world. If she hadn't been there, the fight could have ended very differently. He thinks about what Mildred had said to him. She'd told him she could sense that he was pining after someone. He thinks about the banshee, the fact it had come for him, sensing his apparent vulnerability. It's something he outright refused to acknowledge until the choice to ignore it had been taken from him.

As he drives away, his thoughts flit between Amara and Emily. Until Emily had appeared in their lives, he'd felt as though he was being pulled towards the Darkness. It felt unavoidable, as much as he'd tried to control it. But he can feel that something is starting to shift in him. He isn't entirely sure that he's happy about it, but he can't deny that it's a relief to be thinking about anything other than the all-consuming cosmic entity whose main conquest seems to be him. He checks the time, it's late. He puts his foot down, wondering whether she'll still be up when they get back. They need to talk but that isn't what he is thinking about. He's thinking about her soft hands, her sweet scent, her plump lips, the way she tastes...

"So, what are you gonna do about it?" Sam pipes up, snapping him out of it.

"I don't know Sam." he scowls irritably before turning up the radio to signal that talking to his brother about this is off the table.

It's a lie, he knows exactly what he's gonna do, for better or worse.

***

When they finally reach the bunker, Dean doesn't stop for anything. Without hesitation, he goes straight to her door and knocks gently. 

  
"Hey, it's me, you awake?" he barely whispers.

  
Nothing. 

  
He opens the door a crack and sees that she is asleep, her brow slightly furrowed. He sighs to himself silently and tiptoes over to her. He lightly kisses her forehead and takes the open book from her chest, putting it on the bedside table. Then he switches off her lamp and leaves. It'll have to wait 'til morning. Yawning, he climbs into his bed while he thinks about what he's going to say to her. He checks his watch, 03:00. He tries to quiet his mind, she'll be up in a few hours and he wants to catch her as soon as he can. As his head hits the pillow, he closes his eyes and pictures her face before he drifts off into a peaceful sleep. 


End file.
